Time is nothing
by coeurgryffondor
Summary: All the unions over all the centuries, they were all only temporary in the end. Men came and men went and it was easy to say their country and this country worked together; but what of those who stayed much longer? What of those with hearts like men and needs like men but a lifespan so unlike the average? / 20 historical Sweden/Norway drabbles.
1. Forsaken

Series: « Time is nothing. », 20 historical Sweden/Norway drabbles. Written for lj/hetachallenge. Find my table at lj/coeurgryffondor.

Author's note: Mainly Sweden/Norway with some Denmark/Norway and Sweden/Finland. All the Norwegian history!

Title and opening line come from The Time Traveler's Wife because it seemed to fit. Originally posted to my writing Tumblr in case this seems familiar.

The 20 stories in this challenge go backwards chronologically, so you see the relationship in reverse: you know what will happen, but you don't know why it did; that's why I picked the title and opening I have. When this is all done you can read it either forwards or backwards and see how Sweden and Norway change. I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Time is nothing.**

« It's hard being left behind. I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay. It's hard to be the one who stays. I keep myself busy. Time goes faster that way. »

Forsaken

After the meeting lets out those present go their separate ways: some go to group dinners, others to private dates; some have catching up to do, others have planes to catch. Lukas sits outside the building, letting small droplets of rain fall onto his face turned up towards the sky, flags flapping in the wind high above.

His phone buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it for the feel of cold water droplets forming and running down his cheeks, his neck, his arms and his legs. His jacket covers his briefcase but everything else is exposed to the elements, to whatever the world was about to give him. Lukas had survived it all before, even if everyone looked at him like he was some spoiled man who'd had an easy life.

As if they knew anything.

The phone vibrates again, and again, and the Norwegian lets it. The sky grows darker and the raindrops bigger and the storm grows more wicked until someone is heard running through puddles to him, shouting something Lukas completely misses. Even when he's thrown unceremoniously over a familiar shoulder and run back into the building before a bolt of lightning flashes, followed by the inevitable thunderclap, he never opens his eyes.

In the stairwell Berwald puts him down, muttering something about what a stuck-up mess his companion was and how sometimes he could be nearly as bad as Christen, which was saying something. The Norwegian watches Berwald shake out the water in his hair before interrupting the hushed complaints by demanding, "Who said you were to come save me from the storm?"

The Swede rolls his eyes. "You are as dramatic as ever."

"Oh really?" Lukas challenges. "Going to go complain about forsaken-little-me with everyone else later? About what an ungrateful bitch I am and how I've had everything handed to me on a silver tray my whole life?" Berwald stares at him like he has eight heads at that.

"Who said those things?" The Norwegian shrugs.

"Does it matter? They look at me and don't know me." He slides down the wall, throwing his phone into his briefcase as Berwald sits beside him.

"Has anyone ever known you?" the taller man ponders aloud. He stretches his legs and Lukas copies him, leaning his head against a Swedish shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder if I know you, who you really are."

Lukas closes his eyes, inhaling deeply the smell of Berwald's cologne and aftershave and the perfume that lingered from women who'd kissed his cheeks. "You of all people know me and what I have been through."

"I know what I put you through," and the man links their hands together. "I know most of what Christen put you through." Lukas spins Berwald's wedding ring, a visual mark of a relationship he once had. "Don't know why I still wear that," the man mutters, two years since the divorce from Timo. "Habit, I guess."

"Something like that." A silence falls over the stairwell, rain still pounding against the side of the building, people moving on higher-up floors.

"Do you remember, when we were young?" Berwald looks at him with honest sea green eyes behind stylish glasses and Lukas nods, feeling his heart speed up.

"We were happy then. Sometimes I think we were only happy then."

"We were happy in our union. First union," the Swede quickly corrects.

"We came to be happy again, later on, once the dust had settled."

"Until I truly loved," Berwald murmurs, "I was alone." The Norwegian remembers hearing the words before though he cannot place the who.

And perhaps that's for the better, his mind thinking back. "Time has always been nothing, compared to us," Lukas whispers and Berwald leans in for a kiss.


	2. Loneliness

**Time is nothing.**

Loneliness

There wasn't much too worry about anymore, not the way he once did. There are no longer months and years of hungriness, no burning of his heart, no tightness in his chest from the changing government. In its place there's oil and gas and a booming economy and a maturing society.

Yet the loneliness remains.

Lukas watches other countries come together, he watches other countries be torn apart; Norway won't be joining them, neutral and content. Which Lukas was fine with too: he's had more than enough of unions and getting along with others.

Though, and he'd only admit this in the dark of night when he thinks no one will ever find out, he was sometimes jealous of the ease with which other countries cooperated. They seemed to be themselves when together, unafraid of putting their souls out there and being hurt. They'd waged wars against one another and yet their scars had healed with the passing of time.

He's considered himself a broken, ugly thing for too long to ever heal fully.

Which is how, despite most of those he knew being at EuroVision, Lukas was instead on the couch in front of the television, wearing baggy pants and an old shirt Berwald had left here one time by accident that the Norwegian's yet to give back. He pulls the soft fabric over his nose, inhaling the smell of the Swede still lingering there, as he pours out some wine Christen had sent him from France.

There's a knock at the door that Lukas ignores, sitting in the dark save the glow of the screen as he watches the song contest start in Brighton. Despite being ignored, the knocking sounds out again.

Pissed off Lukas rises slowly, lazily making his way to the door, surprised when he opens it and the Swedish man he loves despite himself is standing there.

"You should be in England," the smaller man says as he steps aside, letting Berwald in and locking back up.

"You should be too," is all he gets. After that they both settle in on the couch, Berwald pouring his own glass of wine. "Cheers?" and they clank glasses, a strong arm falling heavily across Norwegian shoulders.

Lukas watches the light and dark battle over Berwald's face, the way the muscles of his cheeks tense at certain parts of the show. When the man smiles as ABBA sings, the Norwegian reaches out to pull him down for a kiss.

They down the rest of their glasses before forgetting the program and instead making out on the couch, Lukas's legs wrapped tightly around Swedish hips, Berwald's hands touching every inch of Norwegian skin he can get at.

There was a life outside this house, a humanity that all the world shared. They could come together in moments like these, for contests like these, and be content. They could share, they could smile, they could live as one.

Lukas is pretty sure he'll never be able to let his guard down long enough to join in such moments, convinced from all his life of suffering and devastation that you should expect nothing to begin with so life doesn't let you down. He relishes his loneliness because it was better than the pain of anything else.

And as Berwald lifts him with ease, the television forgotten, Lukas thinks that perhaps the Swede feels the same. Could anyone else ever understand what they had been through? Theirs was a strange and twisted story but it had swirled together from the beginning; they could escape the world but they could not escape one another.

* * *

"We missed who won," Berwald whispers against his bare stomach after sex.

Lukas shrugs. "Not like it was one of us; we've never won before."


	3. Broken

**Time is nothing.**

Broken

The economy sours everywhere. Lukas packs up his things and heads out to his country house, far from capitals and government buildings. He still writes to the king but no longer wishes to hear of developments. For someone who had spent centuries wanting to be involved in his own government, the Norwegian now wishes to be once more left in peace, a forgotten relic.

Years pass slowly and Berwald visits occasionally. It's not that bad, really.

* * *

At first he resists leaving Norway with the king but in the end relents, slipping out from beneath the watch of German soldiers thanks to aid supplied by members of the resistance. He watches the shores of Norway recede as the boat moves away, trying to remember when parting was something joyous. At least Lukas can appreciate the green of the sea and the one it reminds him of.

* * *

Having bid the Scottish man good day and contemplating once more what it was that made him enjoy the man's company so much, Lukas meanders the grounds before one of the king's aids approaches him. "Mr. Oxenstierna is here, Sir," the young man says in a hushed tone. Lukas nods and goes to find him.

The Swede is watching the king in the distance inspect something or other. In all likelihood Lukas had probably been scheduled to be there too but there was an understanding between him and his monarch, that Lukas wanted to be treated as a man as much as possible, to calm the pain in his chest he feels for Norway.

He slips his hand quietly into Berwald's, the two watching men jog by them. "This looks good," his taller companion comments. "And what do you do here?"

"Golf," Lukas replies shortly and the Swede nods, clearly fight the urge to smile. "Want to come out with me for a few holes?"

"Come out with you to put things in some holes? Ja, I can do that." He slaps the man before heading towards his room to retrieve his things.

* * *

The Norwegian is nearly ready to swing when a body presses up behind him, kissing his neck. "What are you doing?"

Arms wrap around him as Berwald whispers in his ear, "You're shaking."

"Am I?" Lukas feels each tremor in Norway, the panic, the pain. He wants to forget, to be useful, but still feels like he isn't as his body reacts to unseen horrors.

"Let's call it a day," Berwald suggests. "We're meeting the king later anyway."

* * *

Moonlight streams in from the window, Lukas watching his lover undress. "You hate me for being so uncaring," he says more than asks.

"I am… surprised," and he can tell Berwald is carefully choosing his words. "I know how hot blooded you can be. I'd have thought you would be doing more."

"My temper will not help my people," Lukas says lamely as the Swede sits beside him. "The resistance is waiting for its moment and when it comes I will go with them, but for now they must train and I…." His words trail off as he looks at his hands, shaking again. "I am beyond repair Berwald," the Norwegian murmurs. "I am beaten and broken and beyond repair and of no use to anyone anymore."

Hands cover his, stilling the shaking. "No," Berwald says forcefully. "No," he repeats in a softer voice and Lukas meets his gaze at that. "You are still so beautiful Lukas, and strong, and important. You have gotten through worst."

"When does it end?" the man asks quietly. "I thought, once I had my independence from you, perhaps I could be normal. Peaceful."

"There is no peace for men as broken as us, beloved."


	4. Exhaustion

**Time is nothing.**

Exhaustion

Christen comes out for the coronation, spending the rest of the week in the Norwegian capital. "It's nothing like I remember it," the Dane comments.

"Oh?" Lukas lays down beside him, staring up at the ceiling. "How so?"

"Dunno, just– different. Like you." The Norwegian looks to his counterpart. "You are different, don't give me that look. You changed."

"We all change."

"Well, at least Emil will be happy to see you. And I would very much like it if I could continue calling on you, if that's alright."

"Yeah," Lukas agrees, "yeah, I could live with that." It makes Christen smile.

* * *

A few months later and Lukas still feels exhausted but it's different now, not just about the changing government with its tension in his chest that's finally resolved. It's the beating of his heart when he sees happy couples, when he hears someone speaking in Swedish. It's being home and never feeling farther from it.

The king asks if there's anything he can do to help ease the pain and at that the Norwegian is convinced Christen had told the monarch all about what a tortured soul Lukas is and how he really does care, deep down, even if he'll never be mushy-gushy in public like the Dane is sure he is inside.

"I'm fine," Lukas lies easily. "Do not worry about me."

"Is that not my job?" the king asks lightly, smiling. "Come, tell me the truth."

"This is that damned Dane's doing," he gets in which makes his king laugh.

"He speaks very highly of you; his adoration for you really does know no bounds. He reminds me of someone else I have had the pleasure of speaking with, who also loves you deeply." Lukas stares out the window until his king adds, "I do not think we have much to fear, were you to speak with Oxenstierna again."

If he'd more energy he would have laughed at such a statement. As it is all Lukas can do is nod, look to his king, and sigh. "I am sorry what I represent in Norway's history is not as beautiful as it should be."

"Nonsense," the king whispers. "Both men assured me you are the most beautiful thing ever and if you give me time, perhaps I will come to agree."

* * *

Letters from Arthur spread across his dining room table, Lukas doesn't hear anyone enter; when he looks up, he almost falls over.

"When did you get glasses?" Berwald asks. "What on earth are they for?"

"For reading," the Norwegian says breathlessly, walking around the table and pulling them off. It had been what? Ten years? The Swede had yet to call on him, to write him, to do anything beyond tell others how much he still loved him as if he couldn't come tell Lukas himself. "What are you doing here?"

Berwald shrugs, admitting, "When Sweden lost Finland I had no chance to speak with Timo; I am not so sure what the protocol is, for my calling on you."

"You could have come earlier," Lukas says angrily, hands on his hips. "You could have written, you could have replied to my invitations." The Swede smiles.

"You have been doing wonderfully without me though. Your king and I exchange letters about Norway sometimes; it relieves this guilt I carry."

Lukas eyes the man in his fashionably cut outfit up and down, trying to picture the refined gentleman as he was when they were Vikings. "You should have been here for me," he finally whispers helplessly. "I needed you, so many times, so many nights, and you weren't here."

"I'm here now beloved," and Berwald steps to him, a hand brushing his cheek. "I'm here and finally we can be together." Lukas pulls him down to kiss.


	5. Tears

**Time is nothing.**

Tears

It's slow, going back to an easy place together. Lukas is slow to forgive and Berwald is slow to ask for forgiveness, both men full of pride but also full of ever-present regret. But they've time, and love, and patience, and hope.

When Lukas confesses to missing Emil awfully, Berwald says nothing. A week later and for what the Norwegian understands is a heavy sum paid out to Christen, the Icelandic boy is in his arms. Emil stays a month before returning to Denmark and both brothers are satisfied with that.

Later in the year the topic of Timo finally comes up. Berwald confesses to having felt feelings for his ward, and that the Finnish one was slower in returning them. They had kissed twice and had sex only once; after, Timo had left and the Swede had felt empty. He admits that the hole in his heart is great and perhaps no one could fill it. Perhaps he was broken now and for all time.

"No," Lukas whispers, "we are both broken and together we will heal."

* * *

Word comes of the growing tension, of trade problems and replacing those friendly to Norway in Sweden, of changing the flag to remove one another from it. Lukas seeks out Berwald to inform him and finds the man sitting on their bed, staring into the fire. His head barely moves when he hears someone enter, though he does mutter, "I am so tired beloved."

Sitting heavily beside him, the Norwegian lays his head on a Swedish shoulder. "As am I."

"Your people seem to be more inclined towards independence now, more so than I have seen them in centuries ." Lukas says nothing, not sure how the comment is to be taken. "I mean that as a compliment," Berwald clarifies and their eyes meet; the man is crying silently, tears rolling down his pale cheeks. "It is time that you be able to stand equal to Christen and I, unrestricted." A hand reaches out to stroke away the tears before Lukas moves to sit on his lap, to push Berwald down onto the bed and kiss him to take away the pain they both feel.

It had always been futile really. All the unions over all the centuries, they were all only temporary in the end. Men came and men went and it was easy to say their country and this country worked together; but what of those who stayed much longer? What of those with hearts like men and needs like men but a lifespan so unlike the average? Unions were little more than a dull but constant pain to them, a pain they must endure because it cannot end. They cannot die.

The man beneath him is gentle as they make love, the Norwegian letting go as well. They scream and they whisper and they remember better days that once were, better days that may yet come. Could anything be as sweet as their anguish in this moment though? Would they ever come to feel this again?

Once they're both spent they lay together, neither willing to speak first; it was no longer their place to lead but rather to follow. The people would decide their fates and they would accept it without fuss, as they always had.

* * *

"I love you," Berwald whispers in his ear. "I love you as I always did."

"I know," and Lukas runs his nose up and down the Swedish jaw. "I love you too. We were simply both too stupid to realize how good what we had was."

"We once weren't," the Swede points out. "Perhaps time has made us stupid."

The smaller man sighs and nods. "I leave in the morning. Will you accompany me to the border?" His answer is a kiss.

* * *

The union dissolves, and Lukas finally cries. No one dries his tears.


	6. Loss

**Time is nothing.**

Loss

Some days the Norwegian makes a list: on the left he writes things he has gained over the years; on the right he writes what he has lost. The right column is always longer, by far, and has been growing over the centuries now.

But as they lay in bed, Berwald inspecting the list while his free hand lazily traces the lines of Lukas's side and back, he isn't convinced that that's necessarily a bad thing, that what was on the left wasn't equal to what was on the right. Maybe life hadn't been quite as cruel as he had always told himself it had been. He'd had his Emil for so long, and a dear friend in Christen. He'd had something resembling stability for a long time, and God to rely on, and Berwald to love normally at a distance but now much closer. And he was still here after all.

"Hmm," is all he gets by way of an opinion, Berwald laying the paper out on the table beside him. Swedish arms pull Lukas to his chest, the smaller man laying there quietly and letting the warmth of his lover's body fill him.

"It is good to see my thoughts have so brought out your poetic side."

Lips kiss his head before the man sighs. "I am tired, Lukas, and you know I am not one for words. Most find me difficult to communicate with."

"I never have," the Norwegian counters, "nor have you ever had difficulty finding words to deliver to me. I know you better than that."

Berwald shrugs, spinning his glasses in his hand. "Neither of us are talkers by nature yet there is an ease with you that I hope you feel with me." Lukas's silence is his agreement. "When did the world become so complicated beloved? Remember when decisions were made by a king, and that was law?"

"Remember when you didn't wear glasses?" Berwald pulls a face and the Norwegian has to fight the urge to smile smugly at that. "I tease, I tease."

The Swede goes through his pile of papers, shuffling them, before sighing and laying back down. "So much work to do, and all of it excruciatingly boring."

"I can help, if you would like." When he gets a look Lukas elaborates. "I mean simply to assist you; no one need know I did the work. My government gives me less to do." What he wants to say is, they haven't given him anything since the Kalmar Union and it makes him feel useless.

Berwald thinks the proposal over before muttering, "I like your government. More democratic than what we have in Sweden. You have more voting men."

"Do we?" Lukas hadn't realized but feels a quiet victory at that.

"Sometimes I do believe the Swedish government is more stubborn than you, and I know for a fact the difficulty of such a feat." The Norwegian snorts.

"I think just getting an act of union proved that."

"Men never want to do as they are told," Berwald murmurs darkly.

"No, we do not."

A hand takes Lukas's, bringing it to Swedish lips to kiss. "I like this: us, here. It reminds me of unions gone by."

"We had an easier time being true to one another then."

"We had an easier time being true to ourselves then," Berwald corrects and Lukas must admit that the man is right. In so many ways perhaps all of them wear a mask: Emil, to hide the torment he watched as he grew and now feels constantly; Timo, always cheerful and yet always dissatisfied; Christen, good intentions and broken hearts and powerless. What mask did Berwald wear? What mask did Lukas wear? It was much harder to point to it and say, there it is, when the masks are always discarded when together.

"What do we have?" the Norwegian whispers, suddenly afraid.

"We have each other," Berwald replies. "The rest is nothing compared to that."


	7. Empty

**Time is nothing.**

Empty

Everything about Berwald Oxenstierna is ugly: the way he dresses, the way he fixes his suit in the mirror, the way he wears his hair and the way his glasses sit on his face and the way he speaks and the way he feels when he touches Lukas. Everything is ugly.

They no longer make love; they have sex. Berwald is never nearly as rough as Christen was but then again he wasn't Christen; he was a gentler creature that Lukas had once loved without hesitation and that makes it worst. And Lukas never feels emptier than when he's filled with the man's seed, his shoulders marked with bites. The Dane was a babbler; the Swede remains silent.

Lukas wanders the halls of the large house, servants fleeing him and the empty look in his eyes, lifeless; a lesser man would be dead by now but in his delirium Lukas recalls that they are not lesser men. They are stronger and larger and live longer and so their triumphs are magnificent but their mistakes are horrendous, as if they controlled the tides of fate instead of being controlled.

When he watches Berwald he sometimes gets the impression that the man is empty too, a shell that was once filled by a hopeful Swedish boy that's now perhaps dead. Lukas misses Christen though he never loved him; Berwald misses Timo and he isn't sure if they were ever in love because maybe they were, maybe they weren't, but it doesn't really matter anymore does it? If Lukas was meant to fill a hole in the Swede's heart then it was a hole he had originally punched through, leaving it to be filled by a Finnish boy he wishes he had known better.

The Norwegian wishes he'd done a lot of things. Berwald had been right: he would always carry this guilty of what he never did, not knowing if it could have changed anything but always feeling the weight of his inaction. It's the only thing that fills him most days.

* * *

Tonight he watches moonlight move across the man's face bare of glasses, eyes like the sea they once sailed across and owned blinking up at the ceiling.

"I feel it is my fault," Berwald whispers in a tongue that sounds foreign until Lukas realizes it's Old Norse, the first language they ever spoke.

"As do I." He's no problem blaming Berwald how he use to blame Christen.

"You and I both know it was not, though, my doing and that I did not want this. I did not want any of this."

"You may know that but I am less trusting of you."

The head rolls to the side, watching Lukas lay in his bed. The fire is warm, the room cold, and their bodies naked. "You once trusted me above all others."

"I once loved you above all others."

"Do you no longer?" and Lukas tells himself that any pain or suffering he hears in the man's voice is a figment of his own imagination. "I can court you. I can write you more poems, bring you to performances and take you to dinners. I can build you a castle in the Swedish countryside and let you make all the decisions. I can let you roam free though you and I both know you are not."

"I do not want your hollow attempts at winning what has only ever been yours." The silence presses down on them after that, enveloping them and pressing their hearts further into their chests. "But I will never forgive you this."

A hand takes his under the sheets. "I could live with that, beloved."

"You have not called me that," Lukas whispers, "since our first union."

Berwald smiles sadly. "We may no longer by those boys but you will always be my love. It may not seem it but after all this time, I have never forgotten you. Our flags may change but I am still yours, Lukas, and yours I will always be."


	8. Scar

**Time is nothing.**

Scar

There's talk of revolutions everywhere and it gives Lukas ideas. Christen seems to sense that change, from acceptance of submission to a growing awareness of his own national identity. They've yet to take it from him, from his people; for the first time in centuries, the Norwegian has hope.

He still goes with Christen wherever the war takes him, fighting beside him, healing his scars after. The Dane seems exhausted and frightened and asks, actually asks, to hold Lukas in his arms. They lay quietly and not for the first time he wishes it would be easier, that he could just love Christen like that and move on. The man holding him knows he considers him his best friend, that what they have seen and what they have survived will tie them together forever. Lukas can picture a free Norway and yet cannot picture ever hating Christen, that dedicated companion, for protecting him and loving him and caring for Emil, now a young teenager. Their scars were purely physical and would heal because their relationship was stronger than everything else.

And then there's Sweden. And then there's Berwald.

Hungry (he's been hungry for years now) he stands tonight, waiting for Christen to return. In the distance he can see the horse approaching and after what feels like hours the Dane stands before him, his shoulders heavy, tears drying on his face. Lukas shakes, preparing himself for whatever news–

"I am so, so sorry my love," Christen breathes, embracing him. They stand like that for an eternity before the Dane kisses his cold neck and whispers, "The Danish king will release all Norwegians from their oath to him shortly."

"Tell me that is all," he breathes dangerously. "Christen, tell me that is all."

The man breaks down; they head inside to finish their conversation.

* * *

"Emil will stay here," the Dane continues, "and I swear to you I will protect him and raise him just as I have for centuries."

"I know," Lukas says. They've both been staring into the fire.

"You don't have to–" Christen takes a shaky breath. "I don't think this will sit well with your people. I think they will resist, I really do, and maybe that's–"

"Do not try to give the hopeless man hope, that the sting of the scar may be only that much greater when it comes."

"Someone will at least try–"

"And it will be futile." Deep blue eyes meet light ones. "It was always going to be Berwald. I was always going to go back to Berwald; I've known for centuries."

"Because you love him?" Christen asks bitterly but Lukas shakes his head.

"I– I cannot put it into words. Our time has come to an end, you and I, but it is not yet history's place for Norway to emerge. I can only wait for the hour."

"Wait for him to come," the Dane whispers, "do not give him any satisfaction."

A moment's silence passes before Lukas, eyes on the ground, stands and demands, "Hit me." Christen is shocked at the request and so he repeats himself, "Hit me so that I may at least feel some measure of hate towards you to carry me through the union that I know I must endure. If you ever loved me, hit me!"

The Dane springs to his feet, slapping him so hard across his cheek that Lukas falls to the ground. His head reels as he lays there, dreaming of dying. Christen immediately lays atop him, kissing his cheek to soothe away the pain.

* * *

For just a moment during the war Lukas feels free, alive. Then into his house in Norway walks Berwald; the war is lost. Their kiss shares little passion as the Swede murmurs against his lips, "I believe, once more, you are mine."


	9. Fear

**Time is nothing.**

Fear

When Christen tells him this is the end of the revolt, Norway will become Protestant and that is final, Lukas accepts it. He can do nothing anymore, no longer a kingdom but rather a Danish province. He seethes inside but knows it is no time to act rashly. Berwald sends him his consolation for such a loss.

News of the fire in Oslo arrives days after Lukas has already woken to a burning sensation in his chest that seems to go on forever. Emil hides under his arms as Christen reads out the news, but Lukas can do nothing to save his once-beautiful Oslo and accepts its fate as his own. Berwald writes that he much preferred Oslo to the new name the Danish king will give it, Christiania.

The Danish monarch becomes absolute king over Norway. Lukas barely recalls the ceremonies, standing beside Christen, feeling lifeless and almost-dead. Berwald recalls in his letters days they used to spend in the warm sun, happy. Content. At peace. Equal.

It's during the wars that Lukas lashes out, nothing to lose, nothing to fear. He doubts that anyone could ever pry him from Emil, and he knows Christen would never, ever let the two be parted.

The Danish nation, to his credit, channels Lukas's fear and anger towards the enemies. War after war rages on between Denmark and Sweden, seemingly never ending. Each time Christen scopes the battlefield and points out to the Norwegian where their brother in blood stands, opposed to them. The Finnish boy beside him grows each time; Lukas sneers, because he would never put Emil in peril and yet Berwald seems to risk Timo so easily.

And at night when his Danish lover is rough with him as they wait for spies to come back, fucking to drive away the pain in their chests both physical and emotional, Lukas can almost bear it. For even those few glimpses, however short the time, remind him that Berwald is still flesh and blood and there and his, always his, forever his. It gets Lukas through the long Nordic nights.

This war (they'll all blend together, in the end; they always seem to) and this night are different. Christen, as usual, stands once he's satisfied, quickly dressing. He paces as Lukas lays out on the bed, unashamed of his body, fingers tracing the scars along his stomach where he's been cut in battle or whipped for insolence. The spy's normally come by now; they wait for hours tonight.

Finally the Dane can't take it, blowing out the tent to demand answers. The fire casts eerie shadows all along the room, monsters forming before Lukas's deep blue eyes. Like watching clouds in the sky, they take forms that his mind wishes.

Berwald, tall and mighty, leers down over a mountain. Lukas, lean and strong, in a boat leads the way as Christen, beside him, paddles hard towards the Swede. Emil waits behind them; Timo stands behind Berwald.

His eyes slip closed and the vision continues, their ship reaching the shore only to find Berwald gone. Lukas climbs as quickly as he can over the mountain to come down the other side and find the Swedish nation embracing Timo, kissing him and whispering words that were only meant for the Norwegian's ears. His deceit eats at Lukas who draws his sword, ignoring Christen behind him, grabbing him, shaking him–

"Oi! Wake up!" Lukas sits with a fright. The room is dark now, Christen beside him eyeing him suspiciously. "Did you hear anything I said?"

"Tell me it is not true," the Norwegian breathes in one go. "Tell me it is all a lie, what I see before my eyes, that what I most fear has not come to pass–"

Arms encircle him, pulling him back down. Christen shakes his head. "I am so, so sorry Lukas, but it is true." Bastard! his mind screams, the man crying.


	10. Fight

**Time is nothing.**

Fight

Lukas wakes in a cold sweat. To his left Emil curls in on himself to fight away the sudden loss of warmth. Behind him Christen barely moves and turning his head he finds it's because the Dane is awake, watching the ceiling.

"Feel it too?" and the man smiles bitterly, looking torn between laughing and crying futile tears. "Feel how he rips at both our hearts, even now?"

The Norwegian shakes with fury. "No, he couldn't have."

"Did he not tell you?" Christen asks lazily, pulling Lukas to his chest. "He was very obtuse in his warning to me. I would love to go out there and bash his skull in but I suppose that would accomplish little beyond traumatizing Timo and giving the servants something else to try and get blood out of."

"He left me," Lukas breathes, only half paying attention to his companion.

"In fairness to him, he had to; it was a fight he'd never have won."

"No, he did not have to. He did not have to do anything."

"Yes, Lukas, he did." A hand roughly grabs his chin, making him meet light blue eyes. Emil yawns beside them. "The union is over, between us three, but you and I are still here and together. He could not take you, even if he had wanted to."

* * *

For weeks the days blend together, Lukas laying out in the sun, until weeks become months and months become years. Emil would totter outside with him after the union first came to an end; now the boy is growing without Berwald and Timo here. Lukas wants to be proud of his brother, he really does, but his heart feels heavy and so he cannot.

Suddenly life becomes a spectator sport, as if everyone else knew something he didn't. There's a distance between the Norwegian and the world, even with Christen whom he so rarely kept secrets from. The man is kind and loving and patient; they make love for the first time in years and Lukas feels nothing but his old emptiness. Each time their unions fall apart he is left empty and alone and afraid of what will happen next.

Soon enough letters start arriving. There are a fair number to Emil, it must be said; Berwald did always watch the Icelandic nation while the other two Scandinavians were together. He is considerate even now of the boy, praising him for his maturity and asking after his lessons.

The letters to Christen lack all warmth, only short and to the point. There is none of the eloquence all who have known Berwald for so long know he possesses. Maybe the letters to Christen hurt him; maybe he is as indifferent to the Dane as Lukas is to everything. That he could not fault the Swede for.

But his letters, ones that come in the dead of night and are hand-delivered to him lest Christen destroy them first, his are something altogether surprising. They speak of their childhood, of days as Vikings, of passages from the Bible. They recall in great detail that makes the Norwegian blush the numerous times they had made love, the moans of pleasure, the touches in unholy places, the way Berwald had filled him over and over and how it was never enough. Somehow the two never became one as they had always longed to.

There are so many poems that soon enough Lukas has a bookshelf of folios, poems that are desperate and needy. Poems that talk of wars and battles and petty fights and the Norwegian imagines that Berwald is trying to find peace with what Sweden has done, because though they've no control over their kings their hearts have complete control over them.

The beauty of the longed-for one is incredible, the love overpowering. Lukas truly starts to believe that Berwald still loves him, and that he's never stopped.


	11. Unconscious

**Time is nothing.**

Unconscious

He'll look back on this period and always know that this was when disinterest became his defining personality trait. Some days Christen will make a reference to before the Kalmar Union, how warm Lukas would willingly be when a little Emil would run to him. Berwald will make a terse comment about the boy he once knew, sweet and friendly. But to everyone else that look of disdain, of contempt, of never letting himself show through, all started here.

Because maybe he's unaware of how bad relations are becoming between Denmark and Sweden but he's not unconscious to the deteriorating friendship of Christen and Berwald. Emil comes to him on days where they argue, big, sad eyes pleading for his brother to do something. And just outside the room Timo always stands, peering in; Lukas knows Christen is kindly to the Finn and if fate had played her cards differently the Norwegian could be to.

The only thing Lukas cares about these days is the fighting, the arguing, the petty complaints and the flying fists and daggers, clashing swords and hands gripping and ripping. Both men had calmed a little after they'd hurt their friend while he tried to break up a fight but that had been the last straw for Lukas: if they wanted to piss away every good thing they had fought for five centuries to call their own, then let them. Lukas's heart could be closed to such things, the man retreating within himself to ignore them both.

A lot of days are spent in the library, Emil at his feet babbling softly as he practices reading. Sometimes Christen comes, to ask for forgiveness or for words of wisdom or just for a friend, someone to stand with at the balcony and help him navigate the waves of his life.

Today is one of the rare days Berwald comes in, silently, and Lukas doesn't even know he's in the room until the man leans over his back, pressing lips to the Norwegian neck. "Emil," the Swede whispers, "why don't you take a break from your lessons today? I will review it with you later if you would like."

The Icelandic boy stands and nods, smiling at his brother before running off to find something more amusing to do.

"I know," Berwald whispers in Lukas's ear though they are alone and such hushed words are no longer necessary.

"You know nothing." Maybe none of them do.

"I know you," the Swede counters, looking mischievous at the memory he was trying to reawaken but Lukas will have none of it.

"What do you want Oxenstierna, I have business to attend to while Christen is gone and so do you."

Resting on his desk the man pushes the papers away, slowly drawing Lukas to him. His hands tighten in the light blond hair before crushing their lips together, Lukas pushing away because he was mad at the Swede but also moving with him because there was a desperation there that was new and frightening.

"What do you want Berwald?" Lukas breathes against his mouth.

"I want to know why you are so uncaring to what is going on around you. You are not so stupid to miss the tension, yet you seem to have not arrived at the logical and impending conclusion of this all."

"What are you talking about?" Christen tells him nothing now of what's going on in Sweden, saying that it was the bloody Swede's job to do that. Berwald says nothing at all anymore, because Lukas is apparently that far from his graces.

"Do not blame me when it happens," the taller man sighs, kissing him more gently this time. "Perhaps you could never have done anything, but now you will always know you did not try."


	12. Distress

**Time is nothing.**

Distress

Once upon a time when one of them moved the other moved with him, as if they shared one mind and knew exactly what each was thinking and doing. The kisses and touches were perfectly tailored to one another and they didn't just have sex; they made love and it was slow and unhurried and beautiful and all for them because who knew when they would next get their chance to be together?

Now none of the former truths hold up.

Lukas has by this point spent too many years with Christen who thinks the Norwegian secretly loves him, constantly telling Berwald as much which results in the one slugging the other in the face. Only because Berwald should know better does Lukas attend to the Dane, to punish the one he really loves beyond all others. And that stupid Swede, as if Christen's idiot had worn off on him, just meanders away like a sad little puppy that's been reprimanded for the first time.

Some nights Christen demands Lukas's bed and the Norwegian accepts that as a necessary price to pay if it means in the morning the Dane will be pleasant to Emil, will take him out with him and expose him to the world. It's not so bad being with Christen really, who tries to be gentle and tries to be caring, even if he rarely manages it. The nights are hardly ever close together, once ever two weeks or so.

And besides, Berwald had become the pissy one. He keeps more and more to himself as the union agreed upon in Kalmar goes on, or worst spends days with the Finnish boy who is growing quickly, overtaking Emil. Perhaps if Lukas was less concerned with staring the Swede down every time he walked by he would have stopped to think on that: were Christen and him keeping Emil young? But the Dane and Icelander were happy and Lukas was the one constantly distressed by how the world had changed; everything else could be sorted out later.

Laying by the lake the Norwegian wonders when he last felt at ease with Berwald around him. It had to have been over a century earlier. When did they so change without one another? Was it during that separation, where Lukas and Emil were with Christen and Berwald was off finding Timo? Or had it started sooner and they'd been too stupid to notice?

Time should have meant nothing to them. They were greater than it and yet it remained their greatest enemy, constantly pulling them apart, breaking all their promises and vows. If he could walk into this lake, lay down in its water, and be set free of this world Lukas would in a heartbeat. He loves Emil but the boy doesn't need him as much as he needs Christen who holds the real power. And Christen would cry but he'd find others to replace the hole the Norwegian had left behind.

What would Berwald do?

* * *

He's nearly to his room when a voice around a corner says, "Drowning? I thought you already knew how that would end."

Clothes sopping wet Lukas ignores Berwald, continuing to his chamber and stripping. The Swede closes the door behind him as he redresses in dry garments. "Forgive me if I care as little for you now as you seem to for me, but there is it seems no one left in this world to pull me from the water that fills my lungs." The Swede knows what he's referencing.

Hands grab him, spinning Lukas wildly, and in Berwald's eyes behind those glasses he can see a look of sheer panic. "Do not say such things."

"Why? Do you deny it?"

"One day you will miss me," the Swede sneers, "and then you will regret your words. From the waters I have always pulled you, and from them I always will."


	13. For better, for worse

**Time is nothing.**

For better, for worse

Lukas waits in Christen's castle with Emil by his side, the small boy growing slowly. Another waits in the room too, paler than the rest, but the Norwegian has little interest in him. The boy has cowered from everyone all day; no doubt he fears his master as well. It's pathetic, really.

Out the window the party finally appears, two men leading. His heart begins to race, a hand smoothing the blue fabric of his outfit. "Brother?" Emil asks timidly when he rises. "Where are you going?"

He kisses the boys head, whispering in his ear, "I will return shortly," before quitting the room. Hurriedly he goes down the winding stairs to the main entry hall, arriving just before the doors are thrown open, Christen's voice ringing through the space.

"Ah! There he is!" The Dane pulls Lukas close, trying to kiss him though he turns his head away, instead receiving the kiss to his jaw. "Feisty even now, just how you last saw him."

The third man in their small gathering, the one most interesting to the Norwegian, only grunts before asking, "Where's Timo?"

"Upstairs," Lukas replies in his annoyed voice because why should the Finnish child ever take precedence over him? It was disgusting. "With Emil."

"I'll go get them," Christen volunteers. "Then we can all go for a walk down by the lake!"

"Fine," Berwald and Lukas agree and with that the man is off.

Silence fills the space as the servants finish moving about, leaving to perform their other duties. The two men stare at one another, waiting for Christen's return.

"I love you," Berwald whispers in the quiet, his words reverberating through the large space.

"No you do not," Lukas challenges.

"He loves you," the Swede points out.

"Yes, Christen does."

"He does not like to share."

"No, he does not."

"Couldn't ask about you before Timo," Berwald murmurs by way of some explanation. "Don't want to start the union off that poorly."

"Is that so?" Done with his lame excuses Lukas makes to go outside before a hand grabs his arm, pulling him back.

"You look beautiful," Berwald whispers. "You've always looked stunning in blue. Can I come to you tonight?"

There's a moment's hesitation, Lukas not having expected so bold a question, before he blurts out, "Of course." His companion nods as Christen descends the stairs, the boys following.

* * *

For the longest time they sit in silence on the bed, staring at one another. The clothes have changed and they have too but not nearly to the same extent. Christen was probably drunk, the two boys were asleep, and the fire in Lukas's bedroom was dying down.

A hand reaches out to pull open Berwald's jacket and with that they begin to strip one another until they sit naked, completely open. Berwald speaks first.

"That a new scar?" He runs his fingers down the Norwegian stomach.

"This union will not be easy," Lukas replies coolly.

"Are they ever?" and Berwald reaches out to pull him close.


	14. Dark

**Time is nothing.**

Dark

It's like a blur, the light never quite coming in, the dark never quite going out. Lukas writhes on the bed and he feels someone touching him, perhaps even soothing him, but the world is a blur and he can't make any of it out.

On days like these where he wakes, the Norwegian often finds himself trapped between the real world and some other place, whether the land of dreams or the dead or the gods of days gone by. They come into him, fill him, and he can hear his own voice loud in his ear speaking in tongues, retelling the past, foretelling the future.

His skin burns where someone touches it, pressing up against the hand as another vision takes over. Lukas screams until his voice breaks, body collapsing. Then it all goes black once more.

* * *

Berwald leaves in the night, another by his side. Lukas wants so much to run after him, to scream, to hit him, anything. The night is dark, the wind howling, and it breaks the Norwegian.

* * *

Water flows over the man's head, no longer Björn but now another creature entirely.

* * *

He's in Berwald's home, the Swede by his side, and yet he hates him and cannot tell why. For the first time in his life Lukas wants to leave him.

* * *

Björn pulls him from the water, Leifr coughing to get water from his lungs. When he can finally manage a breath his friend hugs him, crying tears of joy.

* * *

His hands shake, his body is sore, and Berwald sits across from him sadly, apologizing over and over for things he had no control over. Lukas wants to tell him to stop, but he also wants him to keep going because perhaps guilt would keep the Swede by his side this time.

* * *

Emil coos happily in Berwald's protecting arms, wrapped in the larger man's cloak as they move through the harsh wilderness. Lukas feels love at the sight of this man carrying his brother.

* * *

Christen is rough in his touches, pounding into him, and yet Lukas feels no guilt for giving himself over to another, to calm his fear that perhaps the Swede too had found another to give himself too.

* * *

Music plays, unlike anything he's ever heard before, and in strong arms they dance in the grass. It calms the Norwegian whose heart had been racing painfully, their clothing so different and yet to so familiar.

* * *

The Bible hits Björn squarely in the face and a scuffle ensues and though the man's words burn, Lukas is sure one day he will come to see that it is the true religion, something else to believe in when their love isn't strong enough.

* * *

Centuries flash before his eyes and none of them have Berwald there, always at a distance, across the field, in the written word. Lukas despises him for that, screaming out, and someone tries to calm him with whispers of, "Shh beloved, I am here for you." The body lays beside him and it calms the Norwegian's heart.


	15. Abused

**Time is nothing.**

Abused

Christen's touch always burns him, Lukas doing everything he can to remain still and not react. "What is it then?" the Dane whispers against his skin, kissing up his arm to lay atop him. "What I have done to so greatly offend?"

"Everything," Lukas breathes. Christen is a wonderful friend, was there for Lukas and Emil when they needed him, but Lukas still feels indifferent to him. Something in his body demands that he feels nothing towards this man, neither love nor hate, simply disdain. What he feels as Norway is much more tender but what he feels as a man is not romantic. "You are not him, you are not Berwald."

"What has he done that I cannot?" the Dane challenges. "I have won battles. I have given you beautiful things. I have respected you in this union of ours."

Eyes out the window the Norwegian murmurs, "But you are not Berwald and for that I feel nothing."

Without a word Christen stands, pacing the room, as Lukas continues to stare out the window. "Berwald left," the man finally pronounces.

"We no longer share a monarch," Lukas replies in his flat, emotionless voice he has finally perfected, the one that drives Christen up the wall because it indicates no feeling one way or the other. It is the perfect voice to hide behind, so that no one can see who he really is. "You and I now do, that I accept."

"Then love me," Christen demands, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"No," and Lukas almost smiles to say the word, looking to his companion. "No," he repeats, taking some small pleasure from the pain he's causing the man.

"Is that all I am worth to you?" The Dane seems genuinely hurt which Lukas finds intriguing; he was apathetic to the man, and yet Christen had still somehow developed feelings for him. "I know in all things Berwald was your first, you told me yourself, but what you and I have is stable. What you and he have changes with the wind. One moment you love him, the next you hate him."

"Love and hate," Lukas says as if a prophet sharing some sacred truth divined from high above, "are two parts of the same feeling. They are not day and night, summer and winter. They are not like you and Berwald, opposites in all things. This may upset you all you like but it is the truth: what I feel for Berwald is eternal, despite all other things."

"I know he's hit you," Christen says in a low, dangerous voice. "I know he's mocked you for your Christian ways, even now. And I know he loves another–"

"No he does not," Lukas interrupts, panicking just a little, but the Dane will not relent on that point.

"He loves the one they say is from east of him. You he has forgotten, Lukas, left to be abused at the hands of others. Surely you must see this."

"I do not see," the Norwegian forces out with all the pride he has left, "what I close my eyes to."

Hands grab the sides of his face. "Then let me open your eyes to them, my sweet Norwegian prince. He and I are not so different and in time what you feel for him I am sure you can come to feel for me, just as I feel for you."

Lukas pushes Christen away, pulling his legs to his chest. "No, and every word you speak of me no longer loving Berwald is like a lashing upon my back, the true abuse. Bring me my brother; I no longer wish to speak with you."

The Dane stands, nodding his head. They've known each other long enough to know when the conversation is done, when another day's morning will bring some hope of progress and reconciliation between them. "And if he does not come for you? If all you have are your days in union with him to remember?"

"Then let me remember them forever, for they were most glorious days."


	16. Secret

**Time is nothing.**

Secret

Berwald is soft in his thrusts, in his kisses on Lukas's neck and chest, in his touches to soothe and calm as he moves within him. They've had sex before; for the first time, they make love.

He gasps as lips find his, wrapping his arms around the man's neck to pull him down tenderly. Lukas smiles as the Swede whispers sweet nothings in his ear, about how beautiful he is, about how much he loves being in union with him and only him, about how much he loves him.

The larger man comes first before shifting down their bed to suck him off, the Norwegian finishing in his mouth with a scream and a moan. Heavy with ecstasy Lukas lays on the bed wherever he falls, Berwald beside him. Their hands intertwine as their breathing calms, Lukas's head rolling to look at his lover.

"I like this," Berwald confesses. "I like you and me, together."

"I like this too," Lukas agrees, "but I am hesitant to be so happy."

"Because this is only until our king dies?" He nods.

"After that we will part once more for unknown adventures."

The Swede shrugs, his head turning to look at him with beautiful eyes like the sea they both love. "At least we will have had days like these, to look back on. Our days, happy days, days that are our secret to hold like a delicate flower."

"When did you become so eloquent my love?" Lukas teases, rolling over to lay atop Berwald. "I do not remember such pretty words always coming from you."

"Like the pretty words you gave me, the night you told me you loved me?" The Norwegian hits him not just for what he says but for how he smiles so pleasantly at the memory. "You were very drunk that night."

"You tried to give me more alcohol," Lukas hisses.

"I wanted to tell you I loved you," and Berwald's face becomes serious, arms holding his lover. "I thought you had asked if I loved you. I was afraid of saying I did, were you to tell me you did not."

Lukas sits atop the man, looking into the roaring fire before back down. "You did not tell me though, even after I confessed my feelings to you."

His lover smiles. "I knew you would be angry in the morning. I did not want to rush my confession, so that you would always remember it along with your embarrassment. I know you, Lukas of Norway, I know how you can be."

"And how is that?" he dares, leaning down and running his nose along the shaft of Berwald's. "How am I, you who know me so well?"

"You are," the man starts with a smile, "needy. You are demanding. You love attention on you though you hate to need it. You are quiet though your thoughts are loud, for fear that someone will get in. You are so often alone–" a hand strokes his face "–because you feel alone, and so physically push the rest of us away. And you are unaware of how perfect a man you are and how much I will always, always love you. Lukas," and hands hold his face, Berwald sitting up until their faces are level and all he can see is the one he's known longer than anyone else, the one he'd promised himself he would always love, laid bare before him. "Lukas, I swear to you now, on this night, I will always and forever love you and only you."

"Berwald," he breathes, shocked at such a confession. The man smiles.

"It is all for you, beloved; time has never been anything, compared to us. Remember?"

"I remember," Lukas sighs. "I will always remember. I love you, Berwald of Sweden: and this vow I will keep until God takes me from this world."

With a kiss they seal their oaths, two who could never marry but could at least promise forever in the dark of night.


	17. Isolation

**Time is nothing.**

Isolation

There's something unbearable to it as he lays out in the tall grass, watching the sun go low but never quite set. The Dane skips stones out on the water and his younger brother coos happily in his arms, Lukas pushing hair from the boy's face, but there's something horribly wrong with it that twists and tugs at the Norwegian's heart. If he is like ice, it is because of this emptiness within.

Christen, newly baptized and finally committed to his new religion, lays down beside the pair. Immediately Emil flops down on his brother's chest to better reach out and take hold of one of the Danish fingers, giggling in a way only small children can. Christen smiles and Lukas wants to as well but can't.

It's as if he's a thousand miles away, alone, isolated from the world. It's as if he's underwater and can hear sounds but not make out the words, being pulled and pushed with the tide, unable to swim back to the top. It's as if everything in the world is wrong and bitterly Lukas thinks that it is.

A mouth presses against his cheek, Christen rolling up closer. He is a beautiful sight, lean, strong, loving, but he's not the most beautiful Lukas has ever seen and for that he still feels nothing for his friend.

"He'll be back soon," the Dane whispers into his ear, hot breath as Emil closes his eyes as if about to fall asleep on his brother's chest. "Why wait for him?"

"Because I must."

"You do not have to do anything for anyone, Lukas. He is the one that left for his crusade, he is the one who is still resisting being Christian though baptized."

"He was first," the Norwegian breathes and at that the man stops talking, understanding what he was really telling him: that Berwald was Lukas's first in all those things Christen would have liked to have been. He's not stupid, he's seen the way the one from just south of here eyes him up; he knows what he wants. What Christen hadn't known is that he'll never be able to say, he was first.

A hand brushes under his tunic to lightly play with the skin of Lukas's stomach, running over it again and again; it's kind where the memories it evokes are harsh. "Oh?" and that's all the answer the Dane makes.

"Oh." Emil fast asleep now, Lukas turns his head to kiss Christen because maybe then he won't feel so alone without Berwald there, even if it wasn't love.

* * *

From arms so warm and loving he escapes Christen's bed to check on Emil before going out. The night's air is crisp, the smell of extinguished fires filling him.

Lukas shouldn't feel alone. His friends were Christians, no matter how much they may kick and scream. They were working together not just raiding but expanding, making alliances with foreign rulers, being messengers for their people. They were as equal as they could ever be, together, and yet Lukas feels nothing on the inside. It was as if now in a crowd he was a world apart.

There's the crunch of branches and grass behind him, the Norwegian drawing his dagger before seeing in one of the few still-lit fires a figure emerging. "Is that how I am to be greeted now?" Berwald challenges, pushing the dagger aside and grabbing Lukas. He kisses him roughly, unapologetically.

"You left me," the shorter man says angrily, his voice low so as not to disturb others. No one else was to see what he felt lest they see how empty he was inside. "You left me and I hated you for that."

"You always hate me," Berwald whispers seriously, "and that is how I know you still love me. Now come, I'm tired; let's to bed."

* * *

In arms so strong and lustful, Lukas no longer feels quite so alone.


	18. Drunk

**Time is nothing.**

Drunk

The age of the Vikings is, they feel in their bones, coming to a close. Ketill says that calls for a celebration; what he means is it calls for alcohol and lots of it.

The Dane has actually, Lukas believes, slipped out a while ago from the house to go rustle about with the local ladies, getting one last good shag in with all the women in some foreign town before they sail home and part ways for kings and orders and other missions. No longer are they raiders; now they are….

"What are we?" Lukas muses aloud to Björn, sitting across from him on the bed. The Swede's cheeks are as red as the Norwegian's feel.

"I– I–" the man stutters for a while. "I don't know. What are we?"

"We were Vikings!" Lukas yells and Björn seems to visibly relax at that. "But what now?"

"Now we will be men among our people."

The one with deep blue eyes sizes up his companion before challenging his eloquent response and asking, "What did you think I meant when I asked the question?"

"Nothing," Björn adamantly tries, face burning with embarrassment. "More to drink lah– Lukas?"

"Lah– lah– lah," he teases the man's stutter. "Lah what?"

"Lah nothing."

"Lah something."

"No, nothing."

Lukas, smirking and now for unknown reasons also leaning over Björn's broader form, bends down to whisper in the Swede's ear, "Can I tell you a secret? Only you can't tell Björn because it's about him."

"Oh?" Later, the man will claim his answer of neither affirming nor denying the request means he was not in the wrong. For centuries he will claim that by making no response anything the Norwegian did beyond that was out of his control. And for centuries Lukas will claim that excuse is utter bullshit and that the Swede should have stopped him before he said,

"It's my deepest secret ever, I've never told anyone this." A hand, shaking, cups the side of his face as Lukas sits on Björn's lap. And looking into those sea green eyes, alcohol clouding the part of his brain screaming to shut up and stop, the Norwegian says proudly, "I love him. I love Björn."

Silence follows from the Swede who sits, stunned and wide-eyed.

"I think I've always loved him," Lukas continues, swaying back and forth and watching the fire dance in the crisp night's air. "When we grew from children to men I knew then, that I loved him and wanted to always love him. I hope he loves me too," the shorter man pouts. "I want him to love me."

"I want him to love you too," Björn offers helpfully which makes Lukas smile.

* * *

The next morning Lukas's head is reeling horribly; had he really been that drunk? He can barely remember.

When he rolls over and discovers several important clues, mainly that Björn is in his bed and that they are both very naked in a manner suggestion more than, it was cold, Lukas finds his answer: yes, he had really been that drunk.

His head hits the bed with a thunk as Björn stirs, stretching that magnificent body of his. Then he accidentally hits Lukas in the face with his elbow, having also not been aware that he was about to wake to his best friend naked in bed.

"My ass hurts you bastard," Lukas snaps before standing, dressing, and leaving. He swears he'll never drinking alcohol again.


	19. Get Out

**Time is nothing.**

Get Out

Lukas is quickly running out of things to throw at Björn's head. "What part of– I never want– to see you– ever again– do you not– understand‽" The Swede is becoming much faster at ducking and dodging, still advancing into the room.

"Calm down stupid," he says between gritted teeth before a book hits him in the face, Lukas immediately regretting it: not because he didn't want to make that direct contact, but because that was his Bible. He goes to step forward but stops when he sees the calm on Björn's face as the man inspects the manuscript. "This your stupid new book for your stupid new religion?" Everything Christian, whether man or idea, is stupid to Björn.

"Give it back," Lukas challenges, clenching his fists. Everything about this day and this month and this year has been wrong. "Give it back now, Swede."

Eyes like the sea his king had lost the battle upon meet his, Björn smirking ever so slightly. "Make me."

Fire in his blood, blood pumping through his ears, Lukas launches himself at the taller man without care. They tumble to the ground, wrestling for control; Lukas used to be able to hold his own but Björn is too big now, too strong. Finally the Norwegian finds himself pinned down, cursing and spitting at the man above him. "Fuck you!" he screams with all he has for lack of anything else left.

"Don't think we won't," the Swede retorts so effortlessly, so sure of himself. Lukas struggles but can't move, one hand pinning both his arms above his head, legs pinning his down. Björn flips through his Bible carefully rewritten into their language; Lukas had spent weeks working on it. "Oh look, here he speaks to many people. Do his words inspire you the way they inspired these people?"

"Get out," Lukas growls, low, before screaming, "Get out!"

"And here, what do you call these? The– the Gospels, right? How charming."

"Björn! I swear, I will end you!"

"Oh look, this one is called– how surprising– Lukas? Is this your favorite one then? Hmm?" Björn's face gets down close to his and the Norwegian can see every line of the other man's face, feel every line of his body pressing into his. "Was this the one that made you convert, Lukas?" and he spits his name out like a curse, like something disgusting, his mouth curling in the most hideous way.

"You heathen," the smaller man breathes and Björn laughs before lips crush against his, vicious and demanding and rough and Lukas does all he can to push away, freeing his hands, but it's not enough. In that moment he doesn't think he's ever hated Björn more, for being so stuck in the past, for not moving on with him. He hates Ketill and maybe he always will, but Björn was suppose to be different. He had promised Björn, to remember him as he once was. Björn was never in his eyes the rough Viking with a dagger in each hand, blood dripping from his body. Björn was the young man he first fell for, the one who made Lukas grow and learn and change. Björn had shaped him; why couldn't Lukas do the same to him?

He's rolled over beneath Björn and hands feel him up, running up under his tunic. Lukas continues struggling but there's no use, the Swede quickly satisfied with his feeling up of the man's chest he knows so well. The victor hoists his day's prize over his shoulder, throwing him down on the bed and collapsing beside him.

"I told you," the Norwegian breathes, eyes trained on the fire, refusing to look at the one holding him close, "to get out."

"Yes, you did."

"I hate you."

Björn laughs. "I hope you always do." But this laugh is different, and that intrigues Lukas who too soon falls asleep, saying a silent prayer for the Swede.


	20. Remember

**Time is nothing.**

Remember

Leifr loves his friend. He hopes he will always love him.

He tries to tell Björn as much, one day when the two boys are by the river playing at water's edge. The older women don't watch them as much as they watch the other children; the others could drown but they cannot. Yes they can fall in the water and yes it is horrible, that desperation, to feel your lungs fill with water, no end to the agony, but that is why they must stay together. Leifr and Björn: together no harm can come to them.

The other boy is slightly bigger, slightly taller, slightly wider. Leifr likes it; they are growing, the women say, finally maturing. For centuries there have been legends about their prolonged childhood but now they are aging and no one knows why. (Björn is from east of the village, Leifr west, brought here to be watched so that answers could be found.) He's heard whispers that they will perhaps soon be young men; Leifr'd left when the women had asked which of the girls the immortal youths would pick for brides. Leifr doesn't want to pick any of the girls: they're pretty, yes, and can be sweet, but he likes Björn. He likes laying in Björn's arms when the night is cold. He likes laying on Björn's chest when the day is hot. He likes the way Björn sticks up for him or how Björn smiles at him.

It's for those reasons that Leifr, watching Björn poke at the water's calm surface, knows he loves his companion. This isn't something childish; this isn't because they are friends. He feels a tightening in his heart and knows the reason.

"Björn?" Leifr calls out softly. He's grown quiet over the years, no longer willing to smile for those around him who will only die and break his heart. Björn too is quieter, his words harder to understand, causing the larger boy great embarrassment. "Björn? Have you ever been in love?"

That back he's watching stiffens a little as Björn stands before the boy pulls off all his clothing, throwing it on the rock beside Leifr, and smiles something wicked. "Let's go swimming."

"That doesn't answer the question," Leifr points out as he stands and strips as well, allowing his hand to be taken so that Björn can pull him to water's edge. Together they jump into the chilly stream, Leifr holding his breath underwater as long as he can before coming up, laughing at Björn with hair plastered to his face. The one with eyes the color of the water swims to him then, pushing Leifr under, and they struggle for a bit before crawling out and laying on the riverbank. He inhales deeply the smell of his beautiful friend beside him.

"Leifr?" Björn asks timidly.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

He hopes his blush isn't obvious when he replies, "Maybe. Dunno. Not sure."

"Yeah, me too." It's all the answer Björn gives him but it's enough.

When they dress they dress with their backs to one another, something they've never done before. And when they walk back to the village they don't hold hands like they used to, don't give each other flowers or other trinkets, as if something has been confessed that neither understands. Just before they leave the forrest though Björn does pull Leifr aside, looking him in his big blue eyes.

"Leifr, can I ask something of you?"

"Of course Björn."

"Remember me as I am now," the boy whispers, "not who I will become, and I will do the same for you."

"Why?" Leifr asks back. Björn only shrugs.

"I fear the changing times and yet, time is nothing compared to us. Together forever, right?" He smiles sweetly and so Leifr nods, kissing his cheek.


End file.
